3—93 days! The instructions also suggested survivors restrict themselves to half a litre of water every twenty-four hours. I counted the cans of water. There were 124. Each contained half a litre. So I had water rations to last me 124 days. Never had simple arithmetic brought such a smile to my face.
What else did I have? I plunged my arm eagerly into the locker and brought up one marvellous object after another. Each one, no matter what it was, soothed me. I was so sorely in need of company and comfort that the attention brought to making each one of these mass-produced goods felt like a special attention paid to me. I repeatedly mumbled,
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
CHAPTER 52
After a thorough investigation, I made a complete list:
192 tablets of anti-seasickness medicine
124 tin cans of fresh water, each containing 500 millilitres, so 62 litres in all 32 plastic vomit bags
31 cartons of emergency rations, 500 grams each, so 15.5 kilos in all 16 wool blankets
12 solar stills
10 or so orange life jackets, each with an orange, beadless whistle attached by a string 6 morphine ampoule syringes
6 hand flares
5 buoyant oars
4 rocket parachute flares
3 tough, transparent plastic bags, each with a capacity of about 50 litres
3 can openers
3 graduated glass beakers for drinking
2 boxes of waterproof matches
2 buoyant orange smoke signals
2 mid-size orange plastic buckets
2 buoyant orange plastic bailing cups
2 multi-purpose plastic containers with airtight lids
2 yellow rectangular sponges
2 buoyant synthetic ropes, each 50 metres long
2 non-buoyant synthetic ropes of unspecified length, but each at least 30 metres long 2 fishing kits with hooks, lines and sinkers
2 gaffs with very sharp barbed hooks
2 sea anchors
2 hatchets
2 rain catchers
2 black ink ballpoint pens
1 nylon cargo net
1 solid lifebuoy with an inner diameter of 40 centimetres and an outer diameter of 80
centimetres, and an attached rope
1 large hunting knife with a solid handle, a pointed end and one edge a sharp blade and the other a sawtoothed blade;
attached by a long string to a ring in the locker
1 sewing kit with straight and curving needles and strong white thread 1 first-aid kit in a waterproof plastic case
1 signalling mirror
1 pack of filter-tipped Chinese cigarettes
1 large bar of dark chocolate
1 survival manual
1 compass
1 notebook with 98 lined pages
1 boy with a complete set of light clothing but for one lost shoe 1 spotted hyena
1 Bengal tiger 1 lifeboat
1 ocean
1 God
I ate a quarter of the large chocolate bar. I examined one of the rain catchers. It was a device that looked like an inverted umbrella with a good-sized catchment pouch and a connecting rubber tube.
I crossed my arms on the lifebuoy around my waist, brought my head down and fell soundly asleep.
CHAPTER 53
I slept all morning. I was roused by anxiety. That tide of food, water and rest that flowed through my weakened system, bringing me a new lease on life, also brought me the strength to see how desperate my situation was. I awoke to the reality of Richard Parker.
There was a tiger in the lifeboat. I could hardly believe it, yet I knew I had to. And I had to save myself.
I considered jumping overboard and swimming away, but my body refused to move. I was hundreds of miles from landfall, if not over a thousand miles. I couldn't swim such a distance, even with a lifebuoy. What would I eat? What would I drink? How would I keep the sharks away? How would I keep warm? How would I know which way to go?
There was not a shadow of doubt about the matter: to leave the lifeboat meant certain death. But what was staying aboard? He would come at me like a typical cat, without a sound. Before I knew it he would seize the back of my neck or my throat and I would be pierced by fang-holes. I wouldn't be able to speak. The lifeblood would flow out of me unmarked by a final utterance. Or he would kill me by clubbing me with one of his great paws, breaking my neck.
"I'm going to die," I blubbered through quivering lips.
Oncoming death is terrible enough, but worse still is oncoming death with time to spare, time in which all the happiness that was yours and all the happiness that might have been yours becomes clear to you. You see with utter lucidity all that you are losing. The sight brings on an oppressive sadness that no car about to hit you or water about to drown you can match. The feeling is truly unbearable. The words Father, Mother, Ravi, India, Winnipeg struck me with searing poignancy.
I was giving up. I would have given up—if a voice hadn't made itself heard in my heart.
The voice said, "I will not die. I refuse it. I will make it through this nightmare. I will beat the odds, as great as they are. I have survived so far, miraculously. Now I will turn miracle into routine. The amazing will be seen every day. I will put in all the hard work necessary. Yes, so long as God is with me, I will not die. Amen."
My face set to a grim and determined expression. I speak in all modesty as I say this, but I discovered at that moment that I have a fierce will to live. It's not something evident, in my experience. Some of us give up on life with only a resigned sigh. Others fight a little, then lose hope. Still others—and I am one of those—never give up. We fight and fight and fight. We fight no matter the cost of battle, the losses we take, the improbability of success. We fight to the very end. It's not a question of courage. It's something constitutional, an inability to let go. It may be nothing more than life-hungry stupidity.
Richard Parker started growling that very instant, as if he had been waiting for me to become a worthy opponent. My chest became tight with fear.
"Quick, man, quick," I wheezed. I had to organize my survival. Not a second to waste. I needed shelter and right away. I thought of the prow I had made with an oar. But now the tarpaulin was unrolled at the bow; there was nothing to hold the oar in place. And I had no proof that hanging at the end of an oar provided real safety from Richard Parker. He might easily reach and nab me. I had to find something else. My mind worked fast.
I built a raft. The oars, if you remember, floated. And I had life jackets and a sturdy lifebuoy.
With bated breath I closed the locker and reached beneath the tarpaulin for the extra oars on the side benches. Richard Parker noticed. I could see him through the life jackets. As I dragged each oar out—you can imagine how carefully—he stirred in reaction. But he did not turn. I pulled out three oars. A fourth was already resting crosswise on the tarpaulin. I raised the locker lid to close the opening onto Richard Parker's den.
I had four buoyant oars. I set them on the tarpaulin around the lifebuoy. The lifebuoy was now squared by the oars. My raft looked like a game of tic-tac-toe with an O in the centre as the first move.
Now came the dangerous part. I needed the life jackets. Richard Parker's growling was now a deep rumble that shook the air. The hyena responded with a whine, a wavering, high-pitched whine, a sure sign that trouble was on the way.
I had no choice. I had to act. I lowered the lid again. The life jackets were at hand's reach.
Some were right against Richard Parker. The hyena broke into a scream.
I reached for the closest life jacket. I had difficulty grasping it, my hand was trembling so much. I pulled the jacket out. Richard Parker did not seem to notice. I pulled another one out. And another. I was feeling faint with fear. I was having great difficulty breathing. If need be, I told myself, I could throw myself overboard with these life jackets. I pulled a last one out. I had four life jackets.
Pulling the oars in one after the next, I worked them through the armholes of the life jackets—in one armhole, out the other—so that the life jackets became secured to the four corners of the raft. I tied each one shut.